


Knight Xavier of Carim: Forgotten Legacy

by KnightXavier



Series: Tales from Lordran [2]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightXavier/pseuds/KnightXavier
Summary: “One day Xavier, you will be a king.”These words seem to echo through the mind of a tired young Undead, a man who is on the brink of insanity. Deep red hair and golden eyes, strong defining features that nearly disappear with his hollowing, making even he not recognize himself. With each day he remains trapped in the Asylum, the more of his past that slips away. When a knight of Astora rescues him from his imprisonment, something ignites within him, a feeling he thought he had lost long ago. Excitement.Follow the wayward knight of Carim as he struggles to regain his past and recall who he is, meeting old friends, enemies, and discovering how Lordran has changed, his past always just out of reach, hidden away.
Series: Tales from Lordran [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662784
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue: Remembrance

_ Deep elegant reds, bright blues. Tall cobblestone walls, elegant statues with no clear features. Flashes of color, blurred out faces of distant figures. All gone in an instant. Almost like someone tearing them away and throwing them out, deeming them unimportant. A warm embrace surfaces, a soft voice of a woman gently filling the air. Perhaps a mother? The fog grows further, and the sound is soon drowned out, whatever had been attempting to form disappearing like everything else. _

_ A searing pain ignites, around the chest area, like a fire within. Perhaps a brand? The warmth becomes more bearable, another warm embrace encompassing the being, making them give pause. The voice is clear here, as though it had to have been recent. The voice speaks softly, gently guiding an ember down to the fallen corpse. A sense of horror and dread builds inside the observer. Could that be them? No, it would make no sense. They are here now, are they not? _

_ The next memory violently bursts to mind, of a deep pain. An arena-like space, with shambling corpses armed with nothing more than broken weapons and no armor. A word springs to mind.  _ **_Hollow_ ** _. Why does that word seem so important? The shambling “hollows” charge forth, swinging with reckless abandon, leaving themselves completely open to a well placed counter attack. Glancing down, a claidheamh-mòr (claymore) is gripped within their hands, which they quickly swing.  _ **_CRUNCH._ ** _ The sound of flesh meeting and tearing through flesh echoes through the small arena space, the corpse dropping to the ground completely limp. _

_ Blood. Blood is now covering their hands, over what little armor they wore. It was heavy, but not intolerably so. Plate armor, perhaps? Glancing down reveals exactly that, an intricate set of plate armor already stained with bits of gore and blood, which seems to cover the chest plate like a paint. Rather than disgust, a strange sense of fascination filled the observer. Was this what they were like? Ruthless and brutal?  _

_ The scene once more vanished, dissolving away into ash, much like a bonfire’s ashes sweeping away in the wind once the fire had been finally extinguished. Why had that analogy come to mind? Another scene came into focus, a young boy standing next to a man in a bright silver crown, with broad shoulders and a large claidheamh-mòr (claymore) strapped to his back. In front of the two lay multiple quivers filled to the brim with arrows. In the hands of the young boy was a longbow, one carved and designed by hand. Intricate swirls and lettering curled up the bow, much like a vine would curl up a tree. _

_ The boy knocked an arrow with practiced ease, pulling back the bowstring and taking a deep breath. Many targets lay before them, all straw dummies, but spaced out a decent ways away to be a challenge for even the most skilled of archers. The man with the crown observed silently as the boy released the arrow, allowing it to sail through the air. The first dummy was struck with ease, a clean hit right through where the frontal bone of a regular human would have been, striking all the way through to the parietal bone.  _

_ The man with the crown raised an eyebrow as the boy quickly knocked another arrow, adjusting his footing to be around shoulder width apart, resting his arms for a moment with the arrow pointed to the ground. After a few tense moments, the boy once more raised the bow up, pulling the string back to his cheek, the arrow easily resting and awaiting its flight. When the arrow was released this time, it flew with a bit more power behind it, sailing a bit high. The man in the crown shook his head, expecting the arrow to miss. Instead, he found himself surprised as the arrow struck true, once more impaling through where the frontal bone would be, and puncturing through to the occipital bone.  _

_ A sense of pride welled up within the observer, despite them not understanding why it did so. Was this something they had helped to accomplish? Or perhaps they had been the boy? Before they could contemplate further, the scene once more vanished, whisked away into the abyss that seemed to consume every little fragment it could get ahold of. It was circular, with a small ring of fire dripping from the edges. The symbol seemed to be important, and something in the back of the observer’s mind once more searched for a word to describe what they saw. _

**_THE DARK SIGN._ ** _ It hit them like a sack of bricks. That was right! The symbol was the dark sign, that of the Undead that littered the lands. What lands? The thought brought more confusion than clarity, bringing more questions to mind. Had they seen the outside world? Where were they now? A stabbing pain greeted their questions, making them lose focus on the new image that appeared before them. _

_ From what they could see, it was a hollow being dragged along, lurching forward under the grip of a strange knight who stared at the hollow with a sense of sadness. The familiar sight of the plate armor decorated with blood and gore covered the hollow, but without a helm. What had once been fiery red hair now lay matted and flat, mixed with blood and knots. Scratches and slashes dotted the armor, and scars were visible over every inch of exposed skin. What once may have been soft and tanned skin now held a more leathery texture and appearance, and the skin appeared decayed and cracked, as though each movement might draw blood.  _

_ The hall the hollow was carried down was filled with cells, each already occupied by hollows who had lost their sanity completely, and made no effort to even move or groan. Some bashed their heads against the walls in the vain hope they still held the strength to kill themselves. Many would find they lacked it, and simply collapse, awaiting their fate. Perhaps they even awaited the end of the world. Blood hung on the walls, and rats quickly darted away to the dark recesses away from the warden and hollow passing by. On the other side of iron bars to the left stood a tall demon, who watched intently as the newest Undead was brought in, licking its lips. _

_ The uncanny duo finally arrived in the back of the prison, where water seemed to leak around and drip, mixing in with the blood already covering many of the surfaces, the stench of mildew permeating the cells. One cell remained open, which the knight carefully brought the hollow into, placing him gently onto the ground. The knight opened their mouth, clearly speaking to the Undead before him, but only static was heard, no matter how hard the observer attempted to push through. Dammit. Why could they not hear what was being said? _

_ The knight pressed something into the hands of the Undead, a broken sword. Staring at the knight incredulously, the observer felt a strange sense of frustration at such a useless tool. How would that help the unfortunate soul in front of them? The knight stepped back, casting another sad look at the poor Undead in front of them, closing the cell door and locking it behind them. They slowly began to recede away, disappearing into the distant fog that had begun to form. Now the Undead was truly alone. _

_ A small rat climbed into the confines of the newly occupied cell, sniffing around for the source of the new scent that had already begun to accumulate. The nearly hollow Undead looked up at the small creature, a strange look filling their eyes, like a fire reignited within. Perhaps a primal sense that was finally working? Before the observer could properly comprehend what they saw, the Undead lunged forward with the broken sword, stabbing it deeply into the small rodent and slicing it clean in half, a ghost of a smile coming to their lips. _

**_IT’S TIME TO AWAKEN.._ **


	2. Chapter 1: A Grand Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening inside the Undead Asylum, a nameless undead with his memory slowly slipping away discovers his way to freedom, through the assistance of a strange knight. He feels as though he knows the unfamiliar, and using the key he was provided, begins his escape of the Asylum.

Light poured through the relatively quiet Undead Asylum, awakening the few that had yet to lose their sanity. One particular Undead, who lay against the back wall of his cell, glanced up towards the cell, raising up their broken sword and scratching another mark into the cell wall nearby.  _ Today marks the 2,127th day trapped in this infernal hellhole.  _ A small pile of bones sat in the corner of the cell, presumably from small animals the man had managed to kill with his nearly useless weapon. He was used to the routine by now, of doing the smallest little things to keep his sanity. He knew the instant he was placed here that the world had given up on him and wished him dead, but he refused to give up so easily. Sure, he lost more of his memory each day, enough where the person he once might have been was now gone, but he would be damned if he allowed two very important details to leave him. His name, and his home. 

Now, one might be curious as to what the name of the rather unfortunate Undead may be, but he prefers to keep that little nugget of information to himself, holding onto it as though it is the most important item in existence, which for an Undead, it may as well be.  _ They left me here to rot, to die without anyone to remember me. I won’t allow them the satisfaction.  _ The man stretched his legs out for a moment, which cracked and popped from becoming stiff from unuse, a bit of blood being drawn from the leathery skin cracking open.  _ It’s a necessary pain. Would do me no good to forget how to walk properly.  _ Much like any other day trapped in this infernal place, the Undead followed the routine he had devised for himself. Get up slowly, stretch out with care not to draw too much blood, then pace around the cell a bit, swinging the broken sword in familiar patterns. Perhaps he had once been a great swordsman, but now he only had his old plate armor, which was beginning to rust away from being unable to be cared for properly.

When the man had begun his stretches for the day, he noticed a shadow blocking out the sunlight that usually careened down onto him from above. Pausing for a moment, he glanced up, discovering a knight staring at him from above.  _ A knight of Astora. What are they doing here?  _ The thought vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving the Undead confused for a moment. What was Astora? Was it a place he had visited? Frustratingly, the thought disappeared only moments later, evaporating away and leaving the familiar void of his mind blank once more. He jumped slightly as a corpse fell next to him, the strange knight giving him a small nod before moving on, his intentions as unclear as his mind was foggy. _ Why help a stranger such as I? Did they have a reason?  _

Doubts crept and bit at his mind as he carefully stood himself up, using the wall as leverage so he could become accustomed to standing once more. While he could walk for short bursts, he normally never tried to push past that. The dead stare of the corpse bore into him as he reached down, grasping a small key that hung from its loincloth. A small smile came to the Undead, his dry and decayed lips cracking, blood beginning to drip from them and into his mouth. Ignoring the blood for now, he took a few uneasy steps forward, testing the key in the lock. His eyes widened in surprise as the key fit and clicked into place.  _ Am I free?  _ A small gust of wind hit his plate armor, winding its way through the cracks of the armor, bringing a shiver down to his core.

Grasping his broken sword with a new burning conviction, the Undead continued forth from his cell, a strange feeling of fear and dread already beginning to build within him.  _ It would be safer to return to my cell..  _ Shaking his head to clear away the traitorous thought, he stumbled forward, passing by several hollows, who stood in place, banged their heads against the walls, or sat weeping, never able to remember why. A sense of pity built in him, watching the other Undead around him suffer in such a way. Taking a breath, he used his broken sword to kill them, ending their endless torment. One even died with a smile, staring up at him as they lay bleeding out. 

Straight ahead lay a ladder leading upwards, a small puddle of water pooled around near a large grate. It was strange to see the lack of guards in the Asylum, as he remembered several strangely clad knights patrolling the hall he had just departed from.  _ This is far too easy.. _ Climbing the ladder was rather difficult, as the rust covered ladder shredded through the dried skin of his palms, causing him to bleed further. Even so, he persisted, pulling himself up with a grunt of effort, and light shone upon him, forcing him to squint and protect his eyes. A small cathedral was presented in front of him, with a strange bonfire in the middle of the courtyard he found himself in.

A memory bubbled forth of him reaching out towards a bonfire of similar appearance, gently touching the sword embedded within and lighting the bonfire, the warmth of the flames washing over him. Surging forth, grasping the memory tightly, the Undead placed his hand upon the coiled sword as he had seen himself do, and the flames sprung to life from the strange bone-filled ashes. While small, the warmth of it still managed to surround him, and he sat down for a moment, feeling his lips and hands heal, sealing back up, though the blood still clung to his armor where it had dripped down. With the calming warmth, he felt his eyes beginning to close, and before he could stop himself, he fell into a comfortable sleep, protected by the flames. A small voice filled his head.  _ “Rest easy my child. You are safe now..”  _ Then he knew nothing but darkness.

***

Groggily, the Undead opened his eyes, finding himself still within the courtyard. A sense of panic filled him as he registered where he was, recoiling away from the bonfire.  _ How could I be so careless? I don’t even know what possessed me to come here.  _ WIth a groan, he brought himself to his feet, finding that he could stand much easier. His limbs no longer ached as they had before, and his skin appeared much healthier than it had been, less dried and cracked. Before him lay the unknown cathedral, tall and daunting. There was no roof he could see from his position, making him wonder just how old this place is. Taking a breath, he walked up the steps into the main cathedral.

A large crash sounded behind him, making him spin around. The doors he had entered from had closed behind him, locked and unable to even be touched. A strange force prevented it. Gulping, he turned his attention back to the main cathedral, when a terrifying creature came crashing down to the ground from above, a massive hammer grasped in its hands. A sense of dread filled him as the creature leveled his gaze at the Undead.  _ Run! That is a demon!  _ Not taking time to dwell on this new information that sprung forth, the Undead rushed forwards, looking for a way to escape. The creature, a demon as he now knew, watched him scuttle around, raising its hammer into the air to deliver a strike down upon him.

_ There! A side passage!  _ Running with all his might, the Undead managed to arrive in the side pass just as the hammer came crashing down, closing the door behind him in the process.  _ Too close.. _ Letting out a deep sigh of relief, the Undead examined his surroundings. The side path here clearly led somewhere near the upper floor he had seen from the courtyard, yet he had gone down when he first entered. Perhaps he would have to climb some stairs in the near future. Sure enough, after walking down the stairs, he found another cell block leading to a passage ahead. Something to the side of him caught his attention as an arrow flew past him, nearly hitting him in the shoulder.

Diving to the side, he stood in a cell that had been blown open, a small pool of standing water within. It slowed him down a little, but his attention turned to what he had seen earlier. A gleaming shield sat next to the corpse of an unfortunate Undead who had several arrows in his arm, chest, and legs. Whispering a soft apology, he hefted the shield up, placing it on his right arm, testing the weight of it with a small nod.  _ It seems so familiar..  _ Rushing out from the safe haven he had, he raised the shield as another arrow streaked through the air, bouncing off the strong steel. The hollow that fired paused for a moment as he drew closer, then turned tail and ran up a flight of stairs directly behind him.  _ Coward.. _

Another corpse lay near where the archer had chosen to take off at, this one grasping a broadsword in his hand, slumped over with a large gash across his chest, his skin decayed and a small puddle of blood around him from where he presumably bled out.  _ We really are just skin and bone held together by will, aren’t we?  _ Ever so gently, he pried the fallen hollow’s fingers from the sword, wrestling free the scabbard on his hip.  _ Not in the best condition, but it’ll have to do for now.  _ He quickly placed the scabbard on his hip, holding the sword along with his new shield. The broken sword he had held before he set in the now open palm of the dead hollow, continuing to the path he saw the archer escape towards.

The stairs were climbed in no time flat, where at the top, the archer awaited, firing another arrow at the Undead in a moment of panic. He raised his shield in response, swinging with the newly acquired broadsword at the defenseless Hollow. To his surprise, his strike was slightly off, and the sword collided with the Hollow’s collarbone, shattering it and gouging into their flesh, making them let out a shrill shriek. The poor Hollow was not dead, and dropped their bow, grabbing onto the Undead’s arm with a scared stare. A sense of pity erupted within him for a moment before he roughly yanked the blade from the Hollow’s shattered collarbone, stabbing them through the chest and catching their crumpled form.  _ You poor man.. May you forever rest in peace..  _

As he set the Hollow gently down upon the stone ground, he looked up to see a strange white fog blocking his path forward. It swirled and slowly fanned out, drifting along the ground only to dissipate moments later. A sense of curiosity bubbled up within the Undead as he approached the fog wall before him, reaching his hand out to touch the seemingly solid wall. The fog parted as his hand passed through effortlessly, and he took a step forward, pushing through the fog. The wall dissipated a moment later, the last wisps of the pure white fog wrapping themselves around his plate armor covered torso like a blanket before dissipating like the rest.

The Undead found himself in an entirely new section, the balcony he had previously spotted from the courtyard he had rested at. The memory of a sealed door hit him, and he compelled himself to continue, shield raised in case something came out to try and surprise him. The hall ahead proved to be clear, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a small cell where the man who had freed him lay. A sense of sadness filled him as he saw the man’s predicament, reminded of how he had been trapped only moments ago. Seeing no way in, the Undead turned his attention instead to the two staircases presented to him. 

One staircase led down, and appeared to reconnect with the courtyard he had previously come from, mostly likely the door he was unable to open earlier. It was not too far down, and he could see that the way was clear ahead. Glancing up towards the second staircase, which led up to another door, he saw another Hollow wielding a bow standing next to a comically large boulder. Figuring he could wait a moment before heading up, he headed down the first staircase, finding that his earlier suspicion had been confirmed. There was a single door at the bottom of the stairs, one which led straight back to the courtyard. Strangely, he saw that the bonfire he had lit earlier was still just as large as it had been when he had departed from it.  _ How strange.. _

The Undead felt another smile creep up, his lips already beginning to curl upwards into what he could muster for a smile. His lips split open once more, the familiar taste of metallic blood hitting his tongue, yet it was much less than it had been last time. Perhaps the strange bonfire had lessened his pain, or perhaps his skin was not as dry as it had been. Choosing not to dwell on it for too long, he started back up the stairs, He reached the top in no time at all, finding the climb much easier than the first set of stairs he had encountered. Now came the issue of the bow-wielding Hollow atop the second staircase. He had no way to attack from a range at the moment, and worse still was his body was covered by the large boulder.  _ How lovely. I suppose the only way forwards is up..  _

Gathering forth his courage, he started up the staircase, hoping to catch the Hollow off-guard by his direct approach. Unfortunately, it seemed the Hollow was smarter than he had given it credit for, as it used its foot to kick the boulder forwards, and gravity seemed to do the rest as soon as it started down the stairs. Realizing he was about to be flattened, the Undead frantically glanced around, finding that the only way to dodge the boulder would be to jump down to the first staircase. He knew it would hurt, but it would be bearable compared to being utterly flattened by the boulder. He made his decision as he jumped down, the boulder passing by where he had stood only a moment ago. He collided hard with the ground, and his knees barely managed to absorb the shock he received from the fall. 

The Undead overheard a loud crash as the boulder collided with something, shattering whatever had stood in its way open. Taking a moment to collect himself and adjust to the new pain that spiked through his body, he used the wall of the other set of stairs to help him walk until he reached the top, where he discovered the wall which led to the man who had helped him escape was now open, the boulder sitting in the puddle of water and pile of bricks it had created. Clutching his sword tightly, he stepped into the nearly ankle deep water, approaching the man who lay still, staring up at the revealed sky. Despite the helm, the Undead was able to pick up on the sadness and anger the man before him was filled with.

The man seemed to overhear his footsteps and turned to look at him, a weak cough escaping him. “...Oh, you… You’re no Hollow, eh? Thank goodness… I’m done for, I’m afraid… I’ll die soon, then lose my sanity… I wish to ask something of you.. You and I, we’re both Undead… Hear me out, will you?” He let out another weak cough, retching from the force of the cough, placing a hand on his abdomen, where the Undead could clearly see he was bleeding from. Feeling a stab of pity fill him, he promptly nodded, wanting the dying man to finish whatever he had to say. 

“...Regrettably, I have failed my mission… But perhaps you can keep the torch lit… There is an old saying in my family… Thou who art Undead, are chosen… In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, make pilgrimage to the land of ancient lords… When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know…” Yet another cough left the man as blood splattered past the helmet he wore, landing on his armor and mixing into the water. “Well, now you know... And I can die with hope in my heart… Oh, and one more thing.. Here, take this..”

The Undead glanced down at the strange green flask that the dying man offered to him, a strange sense of familiarity hitting him as he touched the cool flask. As it touched his fingers, it warmed almost immediately, filling with a strange warm substance. Glancing inside revealed it to be fire, captured within the little green flask. “An estus flask.. An Undead favorite.. Oh, and this..” The Undead accepted a small key from the dying man, placing it in the pocket of his old pants. He found a chunk of rubble near the man, and chose to take a seat next to him.

“What… Are you doing? You can get out of here.. I’ll die soon, I don’t want to hurt you…” The Undead shook his head at the man, offering him the same estus flask he had just been given with a small smile. It was strange, as though another distant memory rested on the tip of his conscience, but he knew the injured man would be alright if he took the flask. The man looked at him in surprise before gently taking the flask, finding it to be full. Giving a small nod of thanks to the Undead, the man brought the flask to his lips, feeling the warmth of the flames slowly travel down his throat. His wounds began to heal, the fire working to repair the damage done to him by the fall he had endured.

The Undead rose to his feet, offering his hand to the healed man with a small smile. The man groaned as he started to push himself up, grasping the Undead’s hand and pulling himself up. He slipped several times, the pain from the injuries still enduring. While the flask had healed his injuries, it did nothing to satiate the pain and scars would most likely remain from the fatal wound. “I must thank you, sir.. If it weren’t for you, I would have died there.. and gone hollow, becoming a danger to all those around me..” He paused to catch his breath, the pain from the wounds still every present.

We never did have a proper introduction, did we? My name is Oscar of Astora, once proud knight of my home..” The man, Oscar, took his helmet off, revealing his relatively young face and his rather short blonde hair, a weak smile already present on his face. A bit of blood was present on his face and around his lips, presumably from when he had retched horribly earlier, and the inside of his helmet most likely did not fare any better. The Undead was surprised by how young he was, and he was uncertain if the man before him was already Undead, or was still human.

The Undead attempted a smile, feeling his lips stretch as they had before. Rather than his lips splitting open as they had last time, he found he could not fully smile, a mix between a smile and grimace the only expression he could muster. Oscar chuckled good naturedly, patting his shoulder. Both men grunted in pain, Oscar from the sharp pain near his ribs and the Undead from the sudden weight Oscar put on him. “Don’t strain thineself, friend.. I believe a bit of rest would be a good idea for us both.. What say you?”

The Undead gave an unsteady nod, gently brushing Oscar’s hand off his shoulder. While he did not mind the other man, especially since he had just saved his life, the strange sense of distrust and paranoia creeped up deep within him. Almost like a little voice inside him, warning him to never trust anyone, to never allow  **anyone** in. He quelled the rising feeling, gesturing towards the stairs he had previously headed down, which led back to the courtyard he had drifted off in earlier. Oscar smiled, attempting to take a step forward, grimacing and holding his side again. He nearly collapsed to the ground once more, hissing loudly in pain. He leaned onto the Undead once more, gently resting his arm upon the other man’s shoulder. “I hope thee does not mind, friend.. It seems I cannot walk still.. Would it not be too much of a trouble if you could provide me assistance?”

The Undead grunted as he adjusted to the weight Oscar put on him, wrapping his arm around the other man’s side to help him remain stable. Oscar grimaced again as the slight pressure was applied to his side, but otherwise did not voice his discomfort. With the Undead acting as a brace, the duo carefully made their way down the flight of stairs before them, nearly falling over several times as they did. As they soon discovered, walking slowly down stairs with uneasy balance made it much more difficult to stay upright. Thankfully, the walls around them served as decent balancing points, so the pair did not tumble down and injure themselves further. Oscar clenched his side in pain with each step, a bit of blood still coating his clothes beneath his armor. He knew in the back of his mind that it was going to be a pain to get the blood which was already staining out when he had the chance, but that was the least of his concerns now.

Near the bottom of the stairs, Oscar gently pushed himself from the Undead, who released his grip of him. Leaning against the wall, he carefully released the pressure he had applied to his side, glancing down to see that the blood had soaked further through the armor he wore, staining the once blue and golden fabric a deep red. Slinking down the wall, he glanced up at the Undead, taking his helmet off once more and placing it down next to him. “It would be.. Better for you if you were to leave me.. To die.. I’ll only slow you down..” The Undead shook his head, gesturing towards the door. “I know.. It is only a bit more.. I do not wish to burden you, Undead. If I die.. I will become a danger to you.. Please..” 

Making sure to be careful, the Undead once more pressed the nearly full Estus Flask into Oscar’s hand, indicating for him to drink. His eyes were steely, and he never let his gaze leave the young knight of Astora. Shaking his head slightly, the knight slowly raised the flask to his lips, the liquid fire slowly dripping from the flask and filling his body. A small golden glow surrounded his wounds, and the pain in his ribs lessened, though the throbbing he had already felt remained. “You, my new friend, are stubborn.. You could have gone much further and moved much faster without me..”

Offering his hand to Oscar to help him up, the Undead offered what Oscar could only assume was another attempt at a smile, which game out once more as a bloody grimace.  _ Hang in there, Oscar. We are nearly to a safe point. You may rest then.  _ Shaking his head at the stubbornness of the Undead before him, Oscar reached forwards, grasping the Undead’s hand and carefully pulled himself to his feet. Making sure he was stable before continuing, the Undead once more began his trek to the bonfire, which was just beyond the door to the courtyard. 

Oscar gazed at the courtyard, the strange area he had managed to spot from atop the wall he had stood at before that damned demon had swatted him down to his near death. A bonfire, lit and warming even from this distance away. How strange. Had the Undead managed to light it? Smiling, he and the Undead crossed the relatively short distance to the Bonfire, where they both took a seat around it. The warmth of the flames wrapped around his body, healing the remaining damage his body had received from his fall, and cleaned much of his blood away from his armor. His eyes began to droop, and he glanced up to see the Undead in a similar state. “Thank you friend..” The two then saw nothing but black as they allowed sleep to claim them.


End file.
